


go ahead and cry, little boy

by it_always_flinches_first



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Burns, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Victim Blaming, but this fic came into my house and slapped me in the face so here we are, by zuko @ himself, descriptions of pain the effects of abuse and zuko thinking he sucks bc ozai is a terrible parent, god tagging for these two is exhaustinf i hate this, i know what the title says but theres no crying in htis, i was in the middle of a pjo fic feat. latino!percy that was just, it's zuko and azula what did yall expect, me complaining abt the inevitability of death, more specifically one burn, no beta we die like lu ten, oh and theres some swearing in this b warned, oh yeah, pls b nice to me im sexy and tired, the agni kai one, this is right after the first agni kai, vague mentions of dissociation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27264802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/it_always_flinches_first/pseuds/it_always_flinches_first
Summary: He wakes up to pain.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 73





	go ahead and cry, little boy

**Author's Note:**

> hi. im having an extremely unsexy time rn so i decided so will zuko. title from daddy issues bc talk abt poetic cinema or whatever. also jude if ur reading this i was gonna gift this to u but then i realized it's just 2k words' worth of pain nd i dont wanna do that to u.  
> i was gonna use lodvg lyrics for the title but none Fit so daddy issues it is— that said, though, go listen to lodvg i need to gush abt pálida luna and vestido azul to someone. also also: theres a youtuber named ter who made a vid called 'la arquitectura de la oreja de van gogh' and it's the only video ever to exist.  
> lastly: if ur wondering abt the god awful spideychelle fic ive got going on that i said i was fixing, i. im working on it okay. it's not abandoned just. meh. ive got the outline and stuff and i was going somewhere with it but then. hng.

He wakes up to pain.

On his face, on his chest, on his arms, his legs, his torso— it’s good, because it distracts him from the way his heart hammers against his sternum, making bone bloom with spiderweb cracks.

 _(_ — _loyal to the Fire Nation, loyal to you, Father,_ **_please_ ** — _)_

Zuko knows the infirmary as intimately as he knows his own bedroom. It’s not a shock to find himself lying on white sheets with bandages all over his body, and the strong smell of antiseptic doesn’t faze him either. Most of the pain is… expected. He can feel bruises throbbing all over his arms, there are a few scattered burns over his legs, and the pulsing on his ankle feels like the shape of a hand. He’s been here before— after Azula gets bored, or when his firebending teachers tire of his incompetence, or when Father—

When… When Father gets angry, or…

Zuko bites his lip. Ignoring it isn’t making it go away, but _Agni_ , he wishes it would.

The pain on his body was expected, but the left side of his face is _searing_. The smell of burnt flesh lingers in the air like the smoke doesn’t anymore, and Zuko swallows back bile. Slowly, he raises a hand to the bandages over his eye. He expects to feel the burnt skin, maybe, or he expects to feel nothing, for someone to come in and tell him it was all an elaborate nightmare and he’s here because he fell or Azula pushed him off of something tall. But the bandages feel just like they do every time— fabric-like and coarse, tied together at the back of his head. The pain in his face is slowly hushing, though, which he suspects is also the reason his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and his mouth is so dry. Zuko doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but— judging by the half-moon hanging in the sky— it must’ve been a while.

He wonders, briefly, what ended up happening to the 41st division. They weren’t spared— that much Zuko does know. The 41st depended on him being able to defend them, and he failed at that. Father isn’t weak, like him; he sticks to what he has to do and doesn’t accept no for an answer. He— he just wants Zuko to _learn_ , but Zuko’s slow and stupid, so he’s got to take drastic measures. The general’s plan most likely got approved, if only to punish Zuko. He closes his good eye to stop the tears from spilling.

(He firmly refuses to ask himself if his left eye can even cry anymore.)

Agni, he’s just so _lost_. It’s childish and stupid, but Zuko wants Mom. He wants Uncle, with his tea and his wisdom and his old man proverbs that Zuko never understands but misses anyway. Uncle would know what to do, but— What if Uncle doesn’t want him anymore? Surely by now everyone in the Fire Nation’s heard of Zuko’s cowardice; Uncle _shouldn’t_ want a failure like him. Compared to Lu Ten, Zuko is nothing. Compared to _Azula_ , Zuko is even less than nothing— and maybe that should’ve clued them in when he was younger. If it hadn’t been the Agni Kai, it would’ve been something else, like talking back to Father in public or hitting Azula back. All his life, Zuko has been a coward, and it’s about time that brought consequences.

The infirmary only has one door, old and rusting, and Zuko startles when it creaks open. He sits up, wincing, in time to see the back of Azula’s head as she peers into the hallway to make sure no one saw her before closing the door. She turns to him and his breath hitches, which makes his lungs burn for some reason. It takes her longer than he thought it would to reach him.

“I shouldn’t even be here,” Azula mutters. She sits down next to his bed anyway and examines her nail polish, which is chipped in places and wearing thin. So, it looks like, is she.

“I’ve never seen you look like this before.” His voice comes out hoarse— more like a croak than anything else. Zuko can’t remember if he screamed, but he probably did. _It’s a sign of weakness_ , Father always says, and he’s right.

“Like what?” Azula asks, words sharp and biting. “Like a fucking trainwreck? Whose fucking fault is that?”

“Stop swearing, ’Zula. You’re a princess, and eleven.”

Azula spits on the ground and glares at him.

Zuko knows that he turns his fear into anger. He shouts and glares and stomps like a little kid. Azula, in turn, acts even more condescending than she usually is. She’s been taking notes from Mai lately, even if neither of them would ever admit it. Sometimes, at dinner, when Father sits at the head of the table and Zuko is as still as he can be, praying not to be noticed at all, Azula’s eyes go blank. When Father speaks to her, she answers politely— and correctly— but mechanically, like her spirit disliked the fear and has left her body to do more interesting things.

 _I don’t know how I do it,_ Azula had snapped when he’d asked. _I just blink and I’m not there anymore. What do you even care?_

He’d said he didn’t, but she knew that was a lie. The prospect of being _not there_ seemed very enticing. Zuko didn’t ask again.

He tries not to notice the shift. Azula’s anger boils under her skin almost visibly, blue fire trailing her fingers as she talks.

“Uncle told you to keep your mouth shut.”

Zuko swallows. “He did.”

“You could’ve gotten out like nothing had even _happened,_ ” Azula growls. Her shaking hands are limp in her lap as she leans forward. “Instead you went and got yourself disfigured— and for fucking _what_ , Zuko? To delay the deaths of a couple lowlifes nobody gives a shit about? Was it worth it?”

“I…” Maybe. He doesn’t know. “I did what I had to do, Azula—”

“Bullshit!” she yells. The torches on the walls rise and flicker blue for a second before settling down, smaller than they were at the start. Zuko flinches back so hard he ends up lying down again, his arms shielding his face.

There’s a deafening silence, Azula’s voice still ringing in the air. Slowly, Zuko lowers his arms and sits back up. He keeps his eyes on the ground. Her breath hitches once, but he doesn’t look.

“I wouldn’t…” Her voice shakes. He doesn’t look at her. “Zuzu, I wouldn’t… I—”

Azula audibly pulls herself back together, her deep breaths loud in the suffocating silence. The pattern she follows is one that Uncle taught her— one that Uncle taught them both, the first and only time she agreed to have tea with him and Zuko. He matches his breaths to hers, but the fire that lights the room doesn’t react at all.

Azula sighs. “You’re lucky to be alive,” she says flatly.

“Am I?” he counters. His throat is on fire. Azula can’t or doesn’t notice or care.

The curtains at the window next to Zuko’s bed are blown open by a stiff breeze that he doesn’t feel. Here, under the feeble and flickering light of the torches, her hair dishevelled and her brows furrowed, Azula looks almost human. Zuko makes himself stare at her, tries to memorize all over again the curve of her nose, the space above her cupid’s bow, the blackheads on her cheeks. Azula sits still as a statue and lets him.

It’s different seeing her with just one eye; his depth perception’s all gone to hell. Zuko shifts, biting his lip against a scream when the movement pulls at his injuries. (Father is sending him to his death, weak and useless and not the least bit dangerous even with his dao— because surely now he can’t even fight properly and his firebending is a lost cause.) Azula doesn’t react when he lets out a strangled whimper, doesn’t even twitch at his muttered curses. He didn’t expect her to.

Azula swallows. “You’re right.” There aren’t any tears in her eyes, but he can hear them clear as day in her voice. She’s still his sister. Cold and prickly and untrustworthy and more valuable than him, but still his sister. “Better to be dead than... than to lose one’s honour.”

He doesn’t answer that, afraid that if he did he wouldn’t be able to hold back the ash rising in his throat. He brought this onto himself. There’s no changing that. Father was merciful enough to spare his life and Zuko didn’t even deserve that, because Father told him to fight and he _didn’t_ and he knows he should’ve but he was kneeling and Father was so _tall_ and Zuko was so _tiny_ and he _really_ really thought the hand was going to wipe his tears away—

“You were screaming,” Azula whispers. “You were screaming so fucking loud… Uncle said… He said you were fighting the healers. Said they had to hold you down.”

“Is that… Is that where the bruises came from?” He hadn’t wondered about them too hard, or the small burns littering his legs. In the back of his mind, the answer was the same as it always is.

(It’s not honourable to strike a man when he is already down, but Zuko isn’t a man and Father isn’t weak.)

Azula shrugs. “I wasn’t here. How should I know.”

She stares at him and frowns like she’s trying to make a hard decision. Zuko doesn’t speak while she gathers her thoughts, just because it’s so bizarre to see Azula showing any kind of vulnerability that he doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to. It feels wrong. Once, Zuko woke up to an empty room and a memory of his mother that he was sure must’ve been a dream. This kind of wrongness is an icy dread that settles into your chest, close enough to your lungs that it feels like choking. This kind of wrongness is the bandages over the left side of his face and his rabbit-fast heart that hasn’t calmed down since the first time Azula pushed him off a balcony and the lost look on his little sister’s face that _does not belong there_.

Zuko looks away again.

“You shouldn’t’ve said anything,” she says finally, after a century of her staring at Zuko and Zuko staring at the floor. “You shouldn’t’ve— You— You’re an idiot, Zuzu.”

“I know,” he murmurs. The torches flicker like they’re going to go out. “I know.”

Azula clenches her fists and her jaw. “Father’s having you banished.”

“I know,” Zuko repeats. He does. A servant came in a couple of hours ago, shaking and stuttering and tripping over her own feet while Zuko struggled to keep his eyes open, to tell him his father was sending him away to die at sea. Zuko’s anger is a vile, ugly thing simmering under his skin, behind his teeth, in the heat of fire he’s too scared to give life to, but he grits his teeth and says nothing.

And Azula— Azula slumps in her chair like a puppet with its strings cut, defeat leaking out of the line of her shoulders. Another thing he’s never seen her look like until now: a corpse. She wilts like a flower left in the sun for too long, scorched and suffocating. He doesn’t know what to do with this.

She moves the chair closer to his bed, rests her cheek on top of her folded hands on the mattress, closes her eyes. She looks so young, then, that Zuko almost gives up and breaks down crying. His little sister, eleven and terrified even when she says she’s not, will be alone at the palace while Zuko follows a spirit tale. And he worries, because Azula was safe while Father had someone who needed to be disciplined more than her, and she insists that she doesn’t make mistakes but Zuko’s seen her mess up katas; he doesn’t know what Father will do if he sees her be anything less than perfect without Zuko there to distract him with his failure.

Zuko is scared for himself, yes— but nothing compares to the ice that engulfs his lungs at the thought of his baby sister branded like he is, for being better than he was but still not perfect. So he steels himself and taps Azula’s fingers tentatively, smiling faintly when she doesn’t burn his off.

If finding the Avatar is what it’ll take to keep him with her and her safe, then that is what he will do. Zuko is not a dragon, but he still carries Agni’s blood in his veins. He’s useful for little else, but at his core, he’s a protector. At his core, he’s a big brother.

Azula keeps her eyes shut until there are footsteps outside and she has to sneak out through a door that looks like it’s part of the wall. Before she leaves, she takes his hand and squeezes once, holding Zuko’s gaze with burning golden eyes in a face too soft for her sharp determination. She says nothing, but the set of her jaw snarls _come back alive_ and it is not a request. Zuko nods, and she disappears silently, in the blink of an eye.

Zuko knows he turns his fear into anger and his anger into fire.

Whatever it takes, he will come back with the Avatar in chains or die trying.

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey i will tolerate no azula hate in the comments but pls comment. also im on tumblr but not really (@darkhoziertakemetosupermegahell i think but i havent checked in a while). bye bye <2


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